


Kicking The Hornet's Nest

by Littlebiscuits



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Cultists, Jealousy, M/M, Threats, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlebiscuits/pseuds/Littlebiscuits
Summary: John has a new recruit, fresh from the mountains. He's handsome and efficient, and Rook doesn't like him, he doesn't like him at all.





	Kicking The Hornet's Nest

Liberating Holland Valley is taking longer than expected.

Though this is almost entirely Rook's fault. Probably for many, complicated reasons that someone could demonstrate on a map. But considering that Rook is an army of one, and Eden's Gate seems to own most of the property, vehicles and rocket launchers in the county now, he thinks he's doing a pretty spectacular fucking job. 

Rook has no idea why he's apparently the only person in the county being sent on missions deep into the heart of Eden's Gate territory. Maybe he's the only one stupid enough to take them on. In which case his continued survival is probably not helping the situation. It's probably sending some sort of message that's just encouraging more people to get on the radio and demand his help.

Though lately there's been something of a guilt-based enthusiasm for the missions that Dutch gives him. Because he thinks the dangerous nature of them might be what Rook deserves for how he chooses to spend his free time.

He currently has five feet and ten inches of messily tattooed skin pressed to a bed, braced up between long legs while a wet, bruised mouth breathes curses and promises against his own. Rook seems determined and compelled to drive every single crazy thought out of John Seed's brain. A mission he's not sure is even possible, but that doesn't seem to have stopped him before. John, who's probably never been a passive participant of anything in his life, is hissing things that he wants Rook to do to him, things that Rook would be vaguely embarrassed to even think about in public. Though he suspects half of them John will manage to encourage him into later, will make him want almost against his will. 

Rook doesn't think John is very good at the 'no fornication' part of being in Eden's Gate. It's honestly amazing that his whole body isn't just one curling script of 'lust' over and over again. Because there's no way he's been keeping this greedy desperation a secret. The man is impatient and demanding to a ridiculous degree, and he doesn't seem to give a shit about getting caught either. 

The radio has been trying to get Rook's attention for a while, skips and bursts of hectic static. But John is a mess of clenching heat and bruising fingers, greedy and loud, and somewhere close to satisfaction. Close enough that Rook has no doubt he'll make life very painful for Rook, if he even looks like he's distracted by the increasingly impatient voices in the static.

John tries to make him stay after, all pulling hands and brittle smile. But Rook thinks he's in enough trouble as it is, and hard as it is to scale the outside of the ranch in the dark, it's going to be a nightmare once the sun comes up.

 

~

 

John has more new recruits this week. Most of them are dishevelled and thin, various levels of bearded, with hollow, hungry eyes, that suggest they've survived Jacob's training, and come down from the mountains. But one of them is younger, slim and blonde and not yet being devoured by his own facial hair, or Eden's Gate's own brand of crazy-eyes. He's handsome in a boring, bland sort of way that has no interesting edges. Rook probably wouldn't have even noticed him, wouldn't have singled him out as worthy of any attention. If John hadn't done it first.

Rook watches John settle an arm around the unknown man's shoulders, watches John use the hold to shake him gently, like he's done a good job. Which doesn't seem possible, because the idiot Peggie doesn't look like he could have ordered a pizza without written instructions, and someone to help him use a phone.

John's smiling, and it's not his 'I'm going to stab someone and enjoy it,' smile, or his 'what the fuck am I going to do with you,' smile, or even his 'do that obscene thing again,' smile. No, this is a normal smile, an ordinary smile, as if John genuinely likes the man. 

"I should get some intel on that one," Rook decides.

"Which one?" Grace nudges him for the binoculars, and he hands them over. She watches for a minute, follows both of them to the truck. "Looks like any other Peggie to me. Why do you think he's important?"

Rook can't exactly say for sure. Something about him just kind of rubs him the wrong way.

 

~

 

Rook has learnt that John is easy to distract, though this is something of a double-edged sword, because he's also very distracting. Rook sometimes forgets that. He forgets that every time he comes here with a purpose - with some other purpose - he always ends up on the receiving end of John's soft tone, easy laughter and obscene demands. 

It takes far too many minutes - and items of clothing - before Rook remembers that he wanted to ask about the new recruits, find out why they were here and what they were for, in some sort of subtle way.

John slides Rook's belt out of its loop and tosses it away, hand twisting to unzip him.

"So, the new recruits," Rook asks.

John's hand stills, he takes his teeth out of Rook's neck, and tilts his head back to look at him.

"Must you?" he says quietly.

Rook sighs.

"I noticed them the other day, but it's hard to read people through binoculars. You haven't had new people for a while, I know that you love to torment new people -" Rook stops when John's nails dig in, inches from somewhere sensitive. "That you love to _test_ new people. I just thought you might want to share."

John looks like he's considering putting his teeth back in Rook's throat.

"Still, some might consider trying to gather intelligence while we are clearly out of our business clothes monumentally fucking rude."

Which would be absolutely true, if Rook was actually trying to gather intel for the resistance. He just wants to know more about the new recruits, specifically the shifty, suspicious one that's spending too much time mooning around John.

"I wasn't," he protests. "I was showing an interest. You always complain I never show any interest in your mission to save everyone in the county, you tell me I never listen when you're talking about the path to atonement. The grand purpose that you're fulfilling for Joseph, so that you can all get into Eden. You love to talk about it, I'm trying to be supportive." John loves to talk in general, constantly and regularly, sometimes he'll even talk his way through sex, which should be off-putting but for some reason Rook's kind of into. He might have a thing for John's voice.

"And you pick this very _second_ ," John says, voice all edges. He pushes himself upright, the sides of his shirt flung open in a way that makes the bare skin between somehow even more enticing, all ink and violence and smooth lines. He's lost his boots, and his belt, and Rook has been enjoying the solid weight of him sprawled over his lap and thighs. The promise that he might let Rook get every inch of him naked, maybe strap him down so he can't cause trouble, see how many times he can pull a _yes_ out of him.

But now John just looks sharp and unhappy, and Rook has probably screwed up somewhere.

"They're new, and I would appreciate it if you didn't murder them all, until I get some actual use out of them." He makes it sound like that's the only reason Rook comes here, to have sex with him and murder his subordinates.

"I wasn't going to murder them."

Not all of them anyway.

He reaches up, catches both sides of John's waist - because if he pulls the shirt he suspects John will punish him for it, sharply and enthusiastically. John bends to his unspoken request, though he's still tense and angry, Rook thinks he's wounded him somehow, when that hadn't been his intention at all. 

"I'm sorry, I won't ask about -"

John kisses him, and Rook suspects it's entirely to shut him up, mouth somewhere between lust and anger. Sharp fingers dig in his hair and clench tight, so Rook can't pull away from him. They stay in his hair until the end, like a reminder, or a promise.

John doesn't try and make Rook stay afterwards this time, he just leaves the bed and tosses his jeans at him.

"I'm sure you have better things to do." John throws his shirt at him too, expression flat in a way that's somehow still furious. "Try not to kill anyone on your way out. I object to worrying about if I have enough fucking tarp when I'm trying to enjoy an orgasm."

 

~

 

Rook discovers, from three overheard conversations and one stolen phone, that the unknown man's name is Michael, and he's been made part of the regular late night/early morning shift that guards the ranch. Which means that Rook sees far more of him than he's happy about. Both coming and going. He's become a regular, a familiar face every time Rook shows up, and Rook doesn't like it, he doesn't like it at all.

He could understand if he showed some sort of unusual competence, or fanatical loyalty, Peggies like that get promoted all the time. Rook's normally the reason for most of those promotions. But Michael doesn't seem to have any special skills or noticeable talents, he doesn't stand out in any way. With his bland, handsome face, and his quiet, dull obedience. Rook listens to him discussing the education of sinners with equally grubby men, watches him clean the trucks, carry boxes of supplies to and from the ranch. He watches him read from Joseph's book on his break, watches him eat one of those disgusting long-life meals around a table with the other Peggies.

Rook spends an entire day just watching him, trying to find something noteworthy about him, something unexpected, something appealing. He watches him follow John like a lost dog, too close to be anything but an annoyance. While John watches him back, with an expression of patient amusement, of indulgence.

And when Michael has finished his tasks for the day. John sets both hands on his shoulders, smiles at him, talks to him. Rook's no good at lip reading, he doesn't know exactly what the words are, but he thinks he can probably guess. John's happy to have him here, he's doing a good job. John is going to take his confession, he's going to guide him on the path to atonement, he's going to ensure that Michael joins him at Eden's Gate.

Rook snaps his binoculars in half.

 

~

 

Rook follows Michael's group when it's assigned to patrol the woods along the river, checking abandoned buildings for sinners, ammunition and working vehicles they can steal, paint white, and plaster Eden's Gate crosses all over. He doesn't really do 'follow the Peggies,' stealth missions, as a rule, but this seems like good practice for him. Though it very quickly becomes clear that he doesn't have to worry too much about not making any noise, since the Peggies trample through the woods like it's their job to cause as much disturbance as possible.

Rook watches from a sheltered, rocky spot when they find a small, abandoned house with a working truck, start helping themselves to anything they can use, talking about how the whole world will be theirs after the Collapse. They stay there past lunchtime, which isn't technically patrolling. Bad cultists, sloth tattoos for all of them. 

They're mostly loud enough to make any animals avoid the whole area, but a small party of deer pass by, ears flicking cautiously at the murmur of voices. The Peggies shoot at them, leaving two darting off into the woods, and three of them dead in the trees, and Rook knows from experience that they'll be left to rot in the bushes until other animals pick them clean. Which is yet more unnecessary proof that, Doomsday cult or not, they're all assholes.

Rook has never really been that good at planning things out, not in a complicated way, noticing things, setting things up. He doesn't have the talent for it. He's happy to let Grace, or Jess, or even Eli lay out a plan for him to follow. But sometimes he wishes he had the skill for it, sometimes he wishes he could decide exactly what he wants to happen, and have it come off exactly how he'd imagined it. He feels like then he'd probably have more control over his life in general, rather than living through the constant disaster that his whole life has apparently become.

Still not having a plan has its perks sometimes.

Because twenty minutes later, the truck is on fire, four Peggies are dead, the house is covered in pieces of tree, and Michael is stumbling through the woods, yelling for help, like the hounds of hell were after him.

Rook would probably feel bad about the sheer level of destruction, and the fact that for once his determination, persistence and competence is vindictively focused on one man. But for the moment he's just going to enjoy someone else being the epicentre of disaster for a change, someone who deserves it.

He'll feel bad later.

 

~

 

It takes Rook longer than usual to get in the ranch because John has doubled the guards. Which could be a vindictive move directed squarely at Rook, or genuine paranoia. Either way it's more difficult than usual to make his way to the second floor, to John's room, without being spotted, or stumbled over. And since John has demanded that Rook stop leaving unconscious and/or dead Peggies in storerooms and bathrooms, it requires a lot more care than normal.

Not that he gets any recognition for it.

"Where the fuck have you been?" John spits, when Rook finally slips in through the door. He's lost his vest and his boots, and his hair looks dishevelled and inviting. If Rook was feeling particularly self-indulgent he'd say that John looked worried, when really it's probably more frustrated impatience. Since John would likely be one of the first people to know if Rook turned up dead somewhere. "Causing chaos all over the valley, as usual," John finishes.

Rook opens his mouth to say something cutting about John's indecisive bullshit when it comes to guard duties.

"No, shut up. I don't want to hear your excuses," John says firmly, and he's already torn half the buttons off Rook's shirt, shoving him back onto the bed with an impatient, careless sort of enthusiasm. "I should put a knife in you, you are the most destructive, uncontrollable problem. I should have drowned you at the beginning, I shouldn't have let you lead me into sin. I don't even think you have the capacity to understand what I have to -"

John stops talking once he gets Rook's pants off. He just stops halfway through a sentence - halfway through an insult - and makes a soft noise that sounds utterly lost.

Rook leans forward and snaps open John's belt, lets his hand slip down, fold round the solid line of heat and impatience that is currently running John's brain. Rook has no idea why the Resistance has so much faith in him. He just slides from one terrible decision to the next. He's supposed to be liberating something, breaking something belong to one of the Seeds, resisting their influence, freeing the damn county.

But John's insults have gone soft, not quite as graphically violent, more suggestive in nature. Until they're not really insults so much as promises, and quiet pleas, and he's pushing Rook down into the bed, letting him drag down his jeans. There are no insults or promises after that, just quiet savagery and John's fingers pushing into him, slick and too fast, John's mouth on his throat, John's teeth dug into the curve of his jaw, John's dick in his ass.

The last of which drives all the air out of him.

"I will make you stay," John says, all throaty desperation and need, hips slow-pushing when Rook rocks down to meet him. 

It doesn't take long before slow turns into aggressive, turns into hard and desperate. There's too much inside John that's angry, and hurt, and sharp. Too much that always feels ready to break him open and bleed out, slice into anyone around him.

"I will make you _fucking stay_."

Rook grunts out agreement, braces a hand on the wall and takes every second of John's fury, takes it until he has to touch himself. But John smacks his hand away and claims the pleasure for himself, all tight grip and nails and drawn-out words that sound more like death threats than compliments. But Rook drags him in anyway, pulls him down and kisses him, growling his name and spilling everything out, like John cracks him down the middle every time.

 

~

 

Rook spends an entire day setting traps all around the guard post that Michael's team has been left at. He has a lot of traps, and he divides the explosives into neat little piles, just big enough to cause someone an unpleasant inconvenience. If losing some fingers counts as an inconvenience. Rook supposes in the normal world it would probably be a bit more than that. But half of the Peggies are on so much Bliss they can shrug off almost anything that isn't immediately fatal.

It's getting harder to judge acceptable behaviour since Joseph escalated everything, and effectively turned Rook into some sort of strange mercenary for liberation, one that doesn't get any wages, or bonuses, or really perks of any kind, unless you count all the random skills he's learning in the woods. None of which Rook suspects he'll be able to tell anyone about without sounding like a serial killer, or use in any official capacity.

None of his traps are lethal, but most of them are unpleasant. 

If Rook had been given the opportunity to sit back and watch himself, from some sort of weird, third person perspective as he went about his mission, he might question whether this was entirely necessary. He might wonder whether he was spending too much time thinking about this, whether he was focusing his energies in an unproductive way. There are probably more important things he could be doing with his time. Some outpost to take back, an asshole VIP causing trouble for the citizens and needing to be put down, bear trouble somewhere.

In the grand scheme of things, Michael is really not that important. 

Rook hears at least five of his traps go off, over the next fifteen minutes, and the resulting yelling and noises of painful regret. Before the group realises that they're surrounded by invisible instruments of possible death, before they give in, and radio for help. Rook unclips his own radio from his belt, finds their frequency and hits the button.

"No one's coming to save you," he tells them. Then listens to frightened thumbs click spasmodically at the button for the next hour.

Rook doesn't leave until morning, until they're huddled in a wide-eyed group, by a dwindling fire, exhausted and paranoid, guns trained off into the woods. And, yes, Rook's aware that this probably counts as unfitting behaviour for a deputy, but the cult started it.

The cult started it.

 

~

 

Six days later and the Peggies in the Holland Valley have started avoiding Michael entirely. They seem to think he's cursed. Rook's not even sure the Peggies are allowed to believe in curses. But the others have started actively avoiding going on patrol with him, being matched with him for guard duty, eating with him, passing him in the corridors.

Rook's pretty sure the bear incident had been the last straw, he was particularly proud of that one.

The whispers going round, are that the Deputy has a special grudge against Michael, that he's singled him out, refusing to kill him outright for mysterious reasons. Though no one seems to know for certain what those reasons are, or when it all started. There are rumours though. Rook has been listening to all of them.

They range from vaguely believable to wildly outlandish, and Rook kind of likes those ones the best. 'Michael saw him turning into a werebear,' 'Michael barely escaped when he discovered Rook completely naked, practicing Black Magic in the woods,' 'Michael saw him be brought back from the dead by Pastor Jerome,' 'Michael is the only one immune to Rook's mind-control powers.' And, most recently, 'Rook is under secret orders from Joseph to test Michael to breaking point.' Rook's not sure when Joseph was supposed to have given him these orders, or exactly how long he's supposed to have been some sort of double agent.

Some of the Peggies have a surprising amount of imagination, for people who're willing to blindly follow an obviously crazy man into an underground bunker for seven years, without questioning any of the logistics. Rook absently thinks about the logistics all the time, and he's thought of at least twenty ways they'd all die, or fall to anarchy, in the first six months.

Rook is briefly tempted to encourage the 'secret orders from Joseph' one though, because he thinks that one might be useful as a Hail Mary.

 

~

 

Getting into the ranch has become good practice, since the formation and routes of the guards tend to change at random.

Though Rook is disappointed out of an adventure tonight, by the fact that half the guards are settled around a car by the entrance, playing cards. He just waits for the last man paying attention to take a piss break, and then walks in the front door.

John doesn't usually have guards inside at night, a fact Rook likes to think is based entirely on Rook's tendency to sneak up behind him. Though there are rarely sexy chokeholds involved, much to John's continued disappointment.

Rook can tell the living room isn't empty when he slips inside, but it isn't unusual to find John on the couch, doing paperwork with a sort of irritated, reluctant persistence that he's always more than happy to be dragged away from. Someone is on the couch, though it isn't John, it's fucking Michael, sleeves rolled up, expression surprised. He takes one look at Rook and lurches upright, reaches for the gun on the coffee table, a problem Rook solves by kicking the whole table across the room.

"Oh God." 

Michael clearly doesn't know whether to put his hands up, or try some sort of lunging attack. Rook would not recommend the latter. Jacob could probably take him down in a forward lunge, Jacob would know to go low, use Rook's height and weight against him. This spindly idiot would probably just bounce off.

Rook's a moment away from dragging him in and choking him out in John's living room, when the man himself appears from the kitchen. It takes John half a second to take in the whole scene, to frown at Rook in surprised confusion. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks, casual and unconcerned like Michael isn't even there, like it doesn't matter that Michael can see him, and no one's killed anyone yet. It doesn't feel like long enough for the Peggie to have become a permanent fixture. 

"You say that like I don't show up unexpectedly all the time," Rook says tightly.

"Herald?" Michael's still hovering at John's shoulder, like an unwanted pet.

John puts his hand up, and Michael stops talking. Because he's an obedient little shit. Rook has to wonder if that's why John keeps him around. Rook is good at a lot of things, but doing what he's told is not one of them. 

"Not usually through the front door," John says stiffly, as if he's annoyed by Rook's ability to be unpredictable. Rook hadn't realised that he was only allowed to sneak in through the window. 

"Four of your guards are playing cards, and one of them's taking a piss," Rook tells him. Because he feels like making a point about John's trash security. 

John smiles in a way that really doesn't bode well for at least half his guard complement.

"Are they now?"

Rook glares at Michael, at the way he's hovering behind John. Rook wants to say something cutting, wants to remind the idiot that he's supposed to be protecting John, not the other way around. That's this useless Peggie's one job at the moment, protect John Seed, and he's fucking it up. Rook could kill John from this position, and Michael could do nothing about it. Rook officially fucking hates him.

"He's the best you could do for a guard?" Rook says, and he can feel his teeth squeaking. 

"What do you want, Rook?" John says, impatient, as if he has better things to do.

And suddenly Rook's just tired, he's tired of stalking strangers through the woods, he's tired of killing people like some sort of crazy person. He's tired of Hope County and its confusing inability to tell him what the fuck it wants from him, from one day to the next. He's tired of pretending he doesn't have complicated, stupid feelings about this utter trainwreck of a relationship, that was probably always going to explode painfully in his goddamn face. Maybe John getting bored of him is the least destructive way for this whole thing to end anyway. He should be grateful. He should be grateful to fucking Michael.

"It wasn't anything important," Rook says finally, and it comes out flat. "You're obviously busy." He'll just go set something on fire, or blow up a silo. Maybe head up into Jacob's territory, get mauled by a few wolves and be told he's worthless for a while. That sounds like fun.

"Rook." John's fingers catch his wrist, stop him turning, as if he hadn't expected him to actually leave. As if he hadn't wanted him to leave.

Michael looks like he's still thinking about trying for the gun across the room, until Rook looks at him, watches him deflate like the sad balloon of a man that he is.

John blinks, confused expression slowly turning to look at Michael, before tipping back to Rook.

"Is that what this has been about? Is that why you've been - are you _jealous_?" 

John gets halfway to laughter before he seems to realise that Rook isn't denying it. Because he is, he knows he is, it's so fucking obvious now there's no point in lying to himself any more. He's jealous of this stupid, blandly handsome Peggie who John clearly wants to spend time with over him.

"You're actually jealous," John says quietly, and he looks confused, as if the idea won't quite catch hold. "Of Michael?"

Rook's starting to wonder that himself, but having it pointed out to him is a little much, and having it spat out as an accusation in front of Michael, of all people, is especially fucking galling. Because the little shit looks stunned, and then cautiously pleased, watching John like he thinks his attention _meant_ something. Rook honestly cannot remember the last time he was this genuinely furious.

"Herald -"

Three very loud seconds later, and Michael is bleeding out on the floor, red stain spreading slowly underneath him.

"I wish you had told me," John says angrily, like he randomly shoots underlings every day of the week. "I thought you were _bored_. I thought you'd found someone else. I thought I was going to have to find out who they were and then kill them. And then I was going to hurt you until you were sorry, or until you promised to stay. It was driving me fucking crazy."

John takes a moment to wave away the Peggie who'd appeared at the door.

"You shot Michael," Rook says and he has no idea why he sounds so annoyed about that. But he'd had plans, he'd had ideas, he'd been intending to make the man's life miserable. And now he's dead.

John takes a breath, levels a look at him, as if he thinks Rook is being an idiot on purpose.

"Yes, and now I have to go and repent, obviously, since I'm about to lie about you brutally murdering a man in my house." John moves back far enough to jab at Michael with a boot, as if to make sure he's dead.

"I didn't murder anyone," Rook says, because the body is literally right there, and John is holding the gun that did it. "You murdered him. I thought you _liked_ him. I thought you had a thing. I was going to -" Rook thinks he should just be a fucking adult and admit to his shit for once. "I was angry about that."

John's face stretches in a smile, teeth catching his lower lip, like he's trying to hold it in. 

"You're not supposed to be pleased," Rook tells him. He wants to point out that a man is dead, but Rook has killed a lot of Peggies and it would probably come across as disingenuous. 

"You murdered my lieutenant in a jealous rage," John says quietly, like he hasn't heard, or like he's ignoring his opinion entirely. "Because you wanted me for yourself, because you're obsessed with me." He's smiling again, and it's so pleased it almost looks demented.

"I'm not obsessed with you," Rook protests. "And you're not supposed to tell lies."

John lays the gun on the table and takes two steps forward, smug as only a Seed could be.

"Enough to jealously murder a man in cold blood," John says, doing his best impression of scandalised horror. But he's practically vibrating, hands pressed together in front of him, all dark lines and reaching fingers. "To storm in here and kill him in front of me, while he was trying to protect me."

Now that's definitely a lie, if anything Michael had been cowering behind John. But John's eyes are huge, sex-dark, mouth open just a little, as if even the thought of it is -

"This is doing it for you, isn't it?" Rook realises at last. 

"Yes," John hisses out, rising just a little so he can make a grab for Rook's hair and drag him in, kiss him like Rook is something that he thinks he owns now. "You've been tormenting some fucking nobody because you thought I was interested in him." John breathes laughter against Rook's face, hands sliding down to rest against his neck. "And I've been going slowly crazy because I thought you were going to fucking _abandon_ me."

"Michael's still dead," Rook complains.

"Michael was an idiot, he was worthless. But you - " John makes a long, frustrated noise. "People who get to see who I really am, they don't come back, they never come back, and I stopped expecting them to. But you kept coming back, no matter how much you saw, no matter how much I dug myself into you. You have been driving me crazy, because I didn't know why. I thought I'd get to keep you, that you were chosen for me. You let me hurt you, and then you came back, and you said _nothing_. It was like you were teasing me, but you wouldn't stop."

John kisses him again, like he can't help it, pulling away before Rook can kiss him back, like he has more words he has to get out.

"I had to question if it was a game for you, if you were playing me. You made me doubt, because Joseph always cautions to beware of betrayal. But now you tell me you were fucking _jealous_ \- this whole time." John stops talking, exhales through his teeth, as if he has too many feelings and nowhere for them to go.

Rook doesn't even know what to say to all of that. Because only half of it made sense.

John steps back and draws a knife off the kitchen table, points it in Rook's direction.

"Do I have to stab you, to get some sort of honesty in this relationship?" he says darkly. 

Rook is still too annoyed to give him anything in the way of honesty though. Because he's not the one who's been making this difficult. 

"Do I have to break into your house and choke you out, every time I want to have a serious conversation about exactly what you want from me?" Rook counters.

"Everything," John says angrily. "I want _everything_. I want you to stay. I want you to need me, like I need you." His teeth clench, bright and hard, air hissing out of him, as if he thinks he's said too much, shown a weakness that Rook is going to punish.

Instead everything inside Rook settles, anger deflating like it was never real.

"John," he says, and doesn't miss the way that John tenses at his own name, like he's bracing for a blow. "John, you're a violent, unpredictable disaster of a human being, but I love you. In case you haven't fucking noticed. Which might be the most dangerous thing I've done since I joined the Sheriff's department. That's a fight you've already won." That's a fight Rook's already lost.

John drops the knife he's holding, sighs like that was everything he wanted. He drifts forward, lifts his hands and pushes his fingers into Rook's hair, draws him down and kisses him again, and it's all strange softness and warmth. Rook fists a hand in his vest and kisses him back.

"You were sent here for me, you're _mine_ ," John tells him. "And I'm yours."

"This is going to end in disaster," Rook decides, because that seems so obvious at this point.

"You're going to come to paradise with me," John says, sliding both hands down Rook's face and smiling like this changes everything.

Disaster.


End file.
